Evanescent Tricks of a Sweetness Untold
by He-Jay
Summary: When the blue sky dims, so will you. If I can't fly to you anymore, then I will have to discard my wings and walk the ground. But the heart is made to trick their bearers because emotion sometimes wins over reason, making it bitterly sweet. Guess who it's for? The title's a dead giveaway!


**This is a one-shot for the reviewer of Please Smile; it should be obvious as to who it is. This is Eve and Chung in a modern AU in a coffee shop, just as requested.**

**Your response, like always, made me smile. This is just a simple way of showing my gratitude for your support. I must apologize that the plot has taken an extremely drastic turn, because I'm rather weak at putting characters in a wholly different AU (nearly all my stories features characters in more-or-less the same surroundings.) I did try my best, however, so take a read!**

* * *

**University of Altera**

_**Crescam et Lucebo**_**  
'I shall grow and I shall shine'**

My friends never cease to be impressed at my ability in keeping a firm grasp on composure. It's a quality I inherited most likely from my mother who always handles everything with an even grace hard to find in a busy mother of three. Like her, I try to keep a level-headed mindset while doing chores, assignments, caring for my twin brothers, and the like.

Most of my friends joke about me being a machine in part because of my efficiency in homework and the fact that I rarely lost myself.

In truth, I often wonder at the phenomenon of me actually having friends. I wasn't Aisha, the spirited rebel to dyed her hair purple just to become the lead singer of Psychic Moonstones, a band comprised of several other students that seemed to be doing well. Nor was I Ara, the brave international student from Isshin who, unlike all the other international students that banded together speaking only their native language, actually tried to fit in with other people and improve her English.

But circumstances brought us together, and I can't complain. During the gaps between lectures, it is always more fun to study with friends than by yourself, even if you don't get any work done. Our group is very small compared to the clusters of people giggling amongst each other in the cafeteria or the study halls, but for the most part I am content.

At least, that is what I tell myself.

I hate having that little twinge, like a little nip inside me, whenever one of them leaves with their boyfriend. It doesn't show on my face, or at least, I try not to let it show. Friends are friends, after all, but boyfriends are different. That is what I tell myself, but the heart was created to betray our inner thoughts.

Naturally Aisha was the first; with her extrovert I-don't-give-two-Ponggos-about-your-opinion attitude, it is no wonder that boys would admire her. Currently she's dating Psychic Moonstones' lead guitarist, a punk-style freshman who dyed his entire head red and black, complete with piercings, chains, and metal spike charms dangling on his belt. Even his name has an edge to it: Elsword. He looks ridiculous, but somewhat cool at the same time. They match well. Then again, that may be just be me.

I see them heading towards the Student Centre, probably to meet up with the other members of their band. They're holding hands; part of me wants to wave to them, but I force myself to remain still, because it might get awkward.

I remember holding hands with_ him._ There was no electric sparks in our every physical contact as some girls would describe. It was just his hand, firm but warm, encircled around mine. Even that little thing—people usually underestimate the little things—was enough to make me feel safe, with him.

My hands feel cold.

I fell in love for the first time with him. I have had two boyfriends before, but it was to him I said, "I love you."...and meant it with all my heart. I loved him. I'm not sure if that is completely in the past, but it has to be, because I have to accept that he is no longer mine to have. I try to make myself accept it, even force it down my throat like a bitter pill—but there is no limit to how many blows the heart can receive, is there?

His name is Chung. When I say his name, it comes out like a wisp of air that hovers for a fleeting instant before it slips out of my grasp, because I would whisper it to him, write it in capital letters in my Mathematics notebook on the last several pages. I had spent at least a firm two years crushing on him. It didn't matter that he was short—even for a boy—or that his hair was arranged in such a way that he looked like a girl in some angles. What I liked about him most was innocent smile, almost like that of a child's.

It is difficult to believe that this was all back a few years ago when it now seems like a distant memory.

"Ee-veu?"

Only one person emphasizes the last part of my name in such a way. I look up, and sure enough, Ara stands before me, a questioning smile on her face. "What are you doing?"

Her English is slowly improving; I am glad. "The Computer Lecture ended early, so I'm just taking a break. Don't you have a tutorial right now?"

"Ah, yes! I have lesson for quiz yester—tomorrow." She flusters with her words a lot; she should have more confidence. "The teacher Mrs—Miss Lui-shill! Yes, She so hard!"

I glance at my watch. "You better hurry up then, because it's two to five now."

"Aiyah!" She nods and hurries away, scrambling to keep her books from falling out of her arms. I suppress a smile.

That smile quickly fades as my mind drowns in a deluge of images.

He was an avid soccer player. Every lunch break he and his friends would kick a ball around the parking lot, running away when a teacher came to tell them off (and getting in trouble afterwards when he was called over the PA). Whenever he shot a goal, he would look directly at me, and grin his childish smile in such a way that his eyes sparkled. When I called him for a pencil or to send a message from a teacher, he would snap around to look at me with that same heartfelt grin.

I don't know when I started to like him so much. It wasn't an electrically shocking love at first sight, nor was it when he smiled at me. The transition itself was so gradual that there was no defined time or event that caused the change. That didn't change the fact that it _did _happen, though.

Shaking my head, I dust myself off as I rise to my feet. I have an important appointment in...**twenty-six minutes**. I must not be late.

That wasn't to say, however, that I just sat like a rock hoping for him to notice me with an internal conflict raging inside; I said before I tried to keep an iron composure. I didn't say I didn't have emotions that might betray my efforts. He was known for his skills in math; I bothered him almost every day for help on assignments and homework even though I was reasonably capable of doing them myself. I liked to think I was of high intelligence back then, but I was average. He was a math whiz, but he never boasted, considering that he was a guy of few words to begin with. When he did speak, it was in a mellow, quiet voice with the words just audible enough for me to hear.

He and I were the kind of people who were very careful when it came to the opposite gender. Boys complain that understanding girls is as hard as solving a 6x6 Rubik's Cube, but trust me, guys are equally ambiguous to us. I was sure that I liked him, but I didn't know if that liking was mutual because he didn't really give any sign. I dragged this one for months before steeling myself: "This is nothing. If he doesn't see you the same way, it's fine. He is only one guy. I just tell him, and then we can go on as if nothing happened." This, of course, was a bunch of claptrap; Ara was rejected by Raven (a third-year who was a former gang member) months ago and the two still avoid each other like the bubonic plague.

It was all planned: a simple but straightforward confession, remaining calm and cool, and even the it's-okay-if-we're-still-friends-I-really-don't-mi nd speech in case of an rejection, which seemed 99% likely at that time. We planned to meet after his soccer practice, because by then nobody else would be around to see me do something so terrifyingly embarrassing.

'I...think I like you...' should have made the world record for the lousiest confession of all time.

One thing I pride myself in is that I didn't run away after saying those words. It would have been cowardly to do such a thing, and I just stood there, waiting, for the brick to fall on me and jilt me back to reality.

He looked surprised, but after several moments of silence I realized that I wasn't going to get an answer right away. Those quiet seconds were enough for me to regain a portion of control as I concluded, "That's all I wanted to say." and walked back to my dorm as normally as I could despite my limbs having gone stiff and jerky.

That day was a Friday, meaning I had the weekend to stew over the event and berate myself endlessly for ruining our friendship. Even when my twin brothers Moby and Remy broke my lamp stand, it was like I was in a hazy trance of self-reproach and worry.

My trance was shattered Monday after school near the back entrance, when he came up to me said in his just-audible voice, 'I think I like you too.'

The only thing I could do in response was lean in closer, giving a small peck on his cheek.

Twenty-three minutes. I quicken my pace, keeping it to a light speedwalk.

Like every teenage relationship it started out great. We did not publicly display our affections, which made it all the more sweeter when we did when no one else was around. I'll admit, though: it always gave me thrill of joy when he would take my hand when we walked to classes, watching the other people look at our intertwined fingers. Neither of us were comfortable with announcing our relationship, but I think he was happy too, when I would give the occasional surprise hug from behind.

What can I say? I was a girl still in the process of maturing, and I even had wild beliefs that we would continue onto university, maybe even get married. I foolishly believed we wouldn't fall apart like so many of our other peers, because what we had was special compared to theirs.

Our first kiss...behind our high school there was a small daycare, and beside that was a playground. Empty swings was and still is an opportune chance that should never be missed, but one of the two swing was broken. We took turns swinging on the other, pushing each other up, up, up to the clouds. I wanted to let go of the swing and fly into the blue sky. When I told him this he smiled and said,

'Then you can fly to me!' That was a play on his name, because his name, Chung, also meant "blue". I couldn't help but giggle at his play on words; much later I would reflect on just how true he was, because that's what I did. He opened his arms, and I ran towards him, which resulted in both of us falling to the grassy field, laughing like children.

It was meant to be a casual question, and so I asked, 'Did you have your first kiss?'

At this, he sat up, motioning me to do the same, With one hand he gently pressed down on my eyelids, closing them. Then his hands moved to the sides of my face, and just like that, we kissed.

'Now I have.' He grinned as if he had the most amazing experience in his life.

He was my blue sky.

It is already starting to turn dark as I turn the corner, sliding past the people on the streets. I go over the address in my head, which is somewhat useless because I do not know which street is which. I remember the sign, though. It was a purple sign with big bubble letters with a crown logo at the top. It should be easy to find, now that I am here on the main avenue.

How stupid I was to think that we could have been forever.

Then again, the defining attribute of adolescence is our lack of common sense. Maybe that's why the quote "Youth is wasted on the young", is so famous, because it's so true.

I was a fool.

He knew that we would eventually have part way. Maybe in the small corner of my mind I knew it, too—but I denied anything that implied that our relationship was in peril, that the sun was setting in my blue sky.

No, he didn't cheat on me while we were still dating. We cared for each other, no doubt, and neither of us were so low as to become unfaithful to the other; at least, that is what I believe. Looking back, the most plausible theory I can come up with is that we were dating while we were still struggling to know ourselves, and...and it just...

...

...

But I tried. He tried, too. We were together for less than half a year, but already the phone calls were dwindling and sometimes I would spend hours staring at the computer screen, waiting for his icon to appear online despite knowing that it never would. My blue sky was dimming, and I could tell that he was tired of trying.

Found it.

It was a small café, a very modest one as well. Café Ponggo Royale, which explains the sparking crowns that was pasted everywhere on the walls among sepia-toned pictures. The furniture is nice enough, and there are little people here; not too much to have absolutely no privacy, but not too little to be self-conscious of the cashiers and waitresses.

"Hey." He waves me over, and I sit on the armchair that sits across his table.

_Keep your composure_, I chant my mantra as my insides jolt into a little quiver as I sit across him. _Face everything with collected calm._

A harried-looking waitress bustles over, asking what we want to order. Strange anxiety pools in my stomach, so I cannot eat anything. I quietly ask for green tea, him a caramel mocha. I hear jazz music tinkling through the small speakers as she hurries away.

This is it. This is where we are going to break up. He is going to tell me that he never loved me, that it was never meant to work out between us, that it's all is fault that things somehow ended this way, and we will be estranged people that once used to know each other. I wait for my mind to digest this so I can swallow it all down at once, but the shock just lingers around like sickly perfume that won't be aired. My mind is trying to protect itself.

I think of what to say. Should I say 'sorry'? Was it partially my fault as well, that it had come to this? If so, how much?

"...So." I begin, because I realized both of us have developed a fanatical interest in the swirl designs of the table's surface, and part of me urges me to not drag this out any more than necessary. "How is university?"

He looks up, gives a tentative smile that no longer reaches his eyes. "Fine. And you?"

It's getting difficult to swallow. "Great."

"What program?"

"Computer Science."

"Wow, that's good. Not a lot of girls are in that."

"True. And you?"

"Chemical engineering."

"That sounds hard."

"It is."

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

How am I supposed to respond to that?

We relapse into silence, because this seemingly normal conversation feels thorny, all out of place. It's a charade, hiding our feelings and the words we really want to say. The waitress comes back with our drinks and sets them on the table. She must have noticed the awkward atmosphere clouding over our table because she practically runs away without a backward look.

I take a careful sip out of my tea, allowing the hot liquid to warm my dry mouth. He must have been looking for a diversion too, because he takes a big gulp of his mocha, then attempts to stifle his choking coughs that hack from his burned throat. At any other occasions I would have smiled.

"Are you okay?" I reach for a couple of napkins sitting at the edge. "You should be careful."

"Y-yeah." he manages to rasp out between a series of coughs. "Just really thirsty..." he takes the napkins from me and coughs into them noisily. Sighing, I take my tea carefully, not wanting to follow his example. Once he's calmed down, he keeps his drink on the table.

The sky is already darkening; there is no point in keeping up the illusions anymore. "Why did you call me out here, Chung?" I ask in a neutral voice, glad that I had spent years perfecting my mask of placid serenity that renders my face virtually unreadable despite what I may be feeling inside. I know the essence of his answer, but I ask anyway.

"About that." He rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. He had grown much taller than I had last seen him. His hair has grown wild like a blonde fire, but it makes him look manly, even if there is a small ponytail protruding out the back of his head. It hasn't been a year, but it is like he has left his boyhood behind forever, because this person sitting across me with his sleepless eyes, callused hands, and tired face is not the blue sky I loved.

"Eve...you know, this isn't working out between us. I think it's...time...to say goodbye."

He mistakes my silence for quiet shock and self-denial, because he goes on to say all the things I expected from him, "It's not your fault, really! It's just..." he sighs. "I still care about you, but I have to screw my own head on straight and figure out who I am by myself."

I said I knew this was coming. Hearing it now doesn't make it any less painful. "Did I do something wrong?" I know from his voice that there is no way to reverse this, but I still want to know if I did something. Was I too clingy? I resisted every temptation to check his phone—a common habit with Aisha—and I trusted him. Was there anything I did wrong?

"No! You've done nothing wrong, I swear. It's me...I...you're a lovely girl, Eve." He reaches for me, presumably to pat my shoulder, but withdraws just as quickly, because he has no right to comfort me anymore. "Really, it was fun being with you."

I don't know if he is just saying that to make me feel better, or himself. I venture out another question, the words coming with some difficulty. "Is there someone...else?"

"No." He shakes his head firmly. "It's not that, or any of the reasons you think. I really did like you, Eve. But now, I...We...we're all changing. As much as we've tried, I can't imagine us going anywhere. We don't make each other happy anymore."

The last statement hits like a slap on my face. I want to scream at him that that's not true, that he had made me the happiest girl in the world with every sign he showed me that he had cared.

Had.

I have to stop being childish. It's time I faced the truth of his words: he was tired of trying to keep alive a dying flame when it was supposed to turn to ashes. His affection for me had died with the last embers of what used to be something so beautiful. Against my fear, I force myself to look into his eyes, eyes that were so blue like a former sky. The eyes I'm looking into now don't reflect me anymore.

They're filled with pity, fatigue, and regret...but not the telltale sparkle of the innocent happiness of love that he once showed only to me.

I set my tea down with care, so as not to make the china rattle. Not even the tea can go past the lump that is knotting in my chest, preventing me from thinking of anything else. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?" I say quietly so if my voice catches, he won't hear it. I thought he would be relieved that I have taken his words without the expected rain of tears or barrage of insults. But he only seems more disconcerted with every second. So am I. I'm waiting for the expected tears and rage to explode, but it just feels empty, like a cold night on late November.

"I see."

"Do you want to go?" he asks.

I nod. There is nothing left to say, because it's finally done.

Chung insists on paying for both drinks, even though I've taken only two sips of mine and he a single gulp. I find no strength to argue, so I let him pay. After all, it's still a free drink.

It's cold outside, with street lamps burning dimly against the black nightfall. There are few people out now, which is better. But he persists in walking me back to my dorm because there might be hidden dangers lurking in the dark. We don't say anything on the way, but it would have been worse if we did. The silence is by no means comfortable, but in an odd way, numbing. I am dimly aware that these are the last moments we'll have together, but I keep my balance.

We reach the building. I feel like I should say something, a fitting closure to 'us', even though what we shared had long since fallen. But I don't. I don't even want to spare another glance at him, so I do not turn. I force myself to turn and head to my sanctuary.

"Good-bye." he whispers, barely heard over the wind.

And he's gone.

Hearing his fading footsteps, I cannot help but turn, just a bit. I watch his retreating figure down the street, past the streetlights, then just his shadow...and then nothing.

My friends never cease to be impressed at my ability in keeping a firm grasp on composure. If they were to see me now, they would me beyond amazed. I am proud of myself. I handled the entire process without rage, without losing self-control, and we parted so smoothly, it was like as if it were meant to happen.

But I am proud of myself; I am strong. I make my way up the stairs, one step at a time. Right foot, left foot. One step ahead of the other. I must look like a toddler, climbing up the stairs so carefully as if it might collapse under me any minute. I do not wear a watch, so I do not how late it is by the time I finally make it to my room, away from prying eyes. Swinging the lock into place, I stagger a little. I feel faint.

Something clutches my wrist, stopping me from tripping.

'Eve.'

I feel his arms encircling me from behind. I tell myself not to turn, but I am too shocked to even shake my head as I come to face him. I do not even speak for fear that this fantastical illusion my mind has somehow created would vanish upon a single word. This hallucination is so believable, so real that whatever scraps left of my composure falls away, leaving me vulnerable. How do I fight against...

He opens his arms, an irresistible invitation which I automatically respond to. I fling myself into his arms, feeling warmth from him, wrapping around me. For that fleeting instant there is sweetness. For that single moment I allow myself to believe that I can take to the blue sky. My arms tighten around him, as if by doing that he will stay with me longer.

But the sweetest delusions have the bitterest endings, and the rational piece of Eve knows better. I am the first to release, letting my arms fall limp.

Surprisingly, he hold on to me a few seconds longer, and when he lets go, he leans again, pressing his lips very gently to my forehead.

Like so many of my wishes, he vanishes, and I am left facing the cold, empty air.

And that's when I start to cry.

* * *

**Remember how I said I was going to focus on university?**

**Yeah, that worked out well.**


End file.
